‘But why would she be suddenly motivated all these years later to write such an accusatory letter, if all you did was kiss her? And why be so traumatized?’

‘I don’t know, Romy,’ Michael screeched. ‘It doesn’t make sense to me, either. I’ve thought about it non-stop since the day you showed me the bloody thing, but I can’t square her account of what happened with my own recollection. I just can’t. It’s devastating, what she said.’

‘Even now, she’s still incredibly upset, according to Finch. Even after all this time.’

He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but so am I. How do you think it feels to be accused like that? To see the doubt in your eyes, the contempt? It breaks my heart. And it destroyed our marriage.’

There was silence for a moment, before Romy answered. ‘I didn’t doubt you when I first read the letter, Michael. It was your reaction – refusing to engage with me about it, on any level – that helped destroy our marriage.’ She took a breath. ‘I never thought you capable of violence against anyone, let alone a young girl.’

‘I would hope not. After a lifetime together, I think I deserve the benefit of the doubt,’ Michael said, sounding hurt and slightly pompous.

Romy was too angry to reply.

Her husband slumped back against the pillows and closed his eyes as if he were defeated. She held on tightly to her fury as she straightened the clothes she’d scrunched up when she’d sat on the chair and turned towards the door. The whole sordid mess was like a cesspit opened to the air, the miasma choking everyone who stood too close.

Michael’s confession, so long awaited, had left a bad taste in her mouth. True, he’d finally admitted his guilt about kissing Grace. Even said he was sorry. But he’d implied the teenager should also accept some responsibility. And he’d totally denied the violence that Grace had written and apparently spoken about in such graphic detail. This cannot be the whole story, she thought grimly, as she climbed into bed, her brain thumping restlessly with what she’d just heard.

42

Finch woke every morning exhilarated, with a feeling of purpose. Luis and Jocelyn’s estancia was huge and wild and astonishing in its beauty. He rode the hills on the beautiful Peruvian Paso horses with such a sense of freedom, refusing to contemplate the people he’d left, the problems he faced, back in England. He knew it couldn’t last, and he made a conscious decision just to live in the moment.